


Waiting on the Second Wind

by ThereIsNoTragedyInThat



Series: Spirits and Cocaine [11]
Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, I'm sorry about this, M/M, Missing Scene, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Season 2 episode 4, Self-Hatred, Steve helps in the end, Suicidal Thoughts, briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:14:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29477532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereIsNoTragedyInThat/pseuds/ThereIsNoTragedyInThat
Summary: Javier felt like he was drowning and there wasn't any air to save him.*Mind the tags
Relationships: Steve Murphy/Javier Peña
Series: Spirits and Cocaine [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2100027
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41





	Waiting on the Second Wind

**Author's Note:**

> *Suicidal thoughts is more implied then anything but be safe.
> 
> *This is Javier after Carrillo's death.
> 
> Prompt: Age

Javier leaned heavily against the door of his truck; head tilted down as he took a slow drag from the cigarette burning too low in his mouth. He absently kicked at the little rocks near his feet, watched as they tumbled over the edge of the sheer cliff, disappearing into the ravines and forests below. The sun has set nearly two hours ago, the temperature dropping but staying on just the right side of comfortably warm.

He had kept his window cranked down, gun abandoned in the driver’s seat, just within arm’s reach, all he’d have to do was turn around and grab it. There was a chance he’d run into some trouble, if he hung around too along. The old, overgrown road he’d taken up there was something the locals used, was a good place to make quick deliveries of drug money or to dump bodies or drag a hooker for a fun time.

Didn’t change the fact that it had one of the best damn views around.

Javier kept his hands tucked into his pockets, denim snug against his skin, and tried to ignore the subtle way they seemed to shake. They hadn’t stopped, not really, not since he’d walked away from the massacre, from the bodies of the men who’d become his friends, his confidants.

He felt so fucking tired.

Inhaling sharply, Javier blinked away the tears in his eyes, stared up at the night sky, tried to get lost in the intensity of the stars, the sparkling lights to his left where the city came to life, drawing a line with the wilderness. Guilt churned in his gut, bile burned his throat and if he’d eaten anything at all today, he probably would have puked it up ages ago.

Heat tingled against his lips and Javier let it sit for a moment longer until it edged on the side of pain before spitting the remains of his cigarette out and twisting it into the ground with his boot. There was a part of him that wanted to climb up into the bed of his truck and fall asleep, take his chances and just stay right here…let the silence of the night surround him like a shroud.

Javier could almost hear his own heartbeat out here.

Something slipped down Javier’s cheek, took him a solid thirty seconds of it sliding down over his chin and throat for him to realize it was tear. He wiped it away with a rough swipe of his hand, teeth clenched around the shame, like he had the right to shed even a single tear for the men he’d helped get killed.

He inhaled a slow, shaky breath.

The sound of a vehicle, tires moving carefully over gravel and sand made him glance up, squinting as headlights turned the bend. The thought that he should reach for his gun, just in case, was dismissed almost instantly as the vehicle pulled up right behind his, the colour and shape as familiar as his own.

Looking away, Javier fixed his gaze on a place in the distance, couldn’t bring himself to look at Steve, didn’t want to know what he might find in his partner’s face. Of course, he didn’t have to worry about it because as brash as he knew the man to be, as straight with his words as he was, he wasn’t the least bit surprised that he’d do the talking for him.

The headlights flicked off with the engine and Javier’s fingers twitched with the urge to grab another cigarette, lips tingling with the sudden impulse to down some hard liquor if only to escape this conversation. The car door opened and slammed closed, from the corner of his eye he watched Steve walk right up to him and stand there, staring like he really thought Javier was about to acknowledge him.

“Seriously?” his tone was pissed, like a scorned lover, Javier thought bitterly. “Do you know what your apartment looks like right now? Fucking bottles everywhere, you trashed your god damn furniture, _hey_ -” Steve’s hand landed on his shoulder, fingers digging deep and Javier moved fast, stepped away and shoved his hand off with jerky movements.

“Don’t touch me Murphy,” he didn’t look at him, kept his eyes fixed on the man’s shoes. “Just don’t fucking touch me right now.”

There was silence for several long moments and because Steve just didn’t know when to quit, he took a step forward anyway, “you can’t just disappear Javi, not like this, not after-”

That prompted Javier to look up, knew his face had twisted into something ugly and he wasn’t even that drunk, but he was tired and angry and so sick of people giving two shits about him, “you’re not my keeper Murphy,” he hissed. “You don’t own me, and I don’t owe you anything.”

It was dark, only the meagre light of the moon struggling past the tall trees on the mountain face behind him, but he could just make out Steve’s wide-eyed stare, the stubborn set of his jaw, the way his hands clenched in and out of fists at his side like it was taking a hell of a lot to keep his cool.

“We both know,” his partner began, voice deceptively calm. “that isn’t true at all.”

This felt like a standoff, staring across at the man whose first instinct as they walked through the bodies of what had once been the Bloc, was to try and comfort him. The same man who had volunteered to stay with Carrillo’s body because Javi couldn’t face what he’d done…the same man who’d squeezed his hand and made him promise that he’d see him at home.

The bone deep exhaustion made him slump, lean right back against his truck because he couldn’t fight Steve too, just didn’t have anything left anymore, nothing left to give, and nothing left to say. He had always thought Colombia would break him one day, had thought he’d made peace with it a long time ago, how fucking stupid he’d been.

Covering his face with one hand, Javier had to swallow back a sob when he realized it was shaking and the helplessness that caused him, the physical manifestation of his guilt nearly made him reach inside the cab for his gun.

“Murphy…I’m done.”

The pause was heavier this time, those words settling like a 30-ton anchor between them, and Javier very nearly flinched when he felt Steve settle against the truck with him, his arm pressed firmly against his own.

There was the sound of rustling and the familiar click of a lighter being tested and when he finally let his hand dropped to his side, he found Steve offering him a cigarette, held between two fingers in his direction, staring off in the distance and not lookin at him.

Hesitating only a second, Javier leaned down and took it in his mouth, lips holding it in place, kept his eyes fixed on the point at the end as his partner lit it for him. He took a long drag, let his eyelids flutter closed, thankful for the distraction.

“You ain’t done Javi,” Steve murmured, arms crossing over his chest.

Swallowing thickly, Javier shook his head, tried to find the words to explain to him that this was the last straw, he didn’t know where they went from here, how they found a way to keep going against Escobar with everything in shambles.

“Fucking hell Murphy…I…I feel so _old_. I feel like I’ve been here forever, doing this forever. Ca-” He choked on the name briefly, forced it up his throat, plucked the cigarette from his lips so he could talk. “Carrillo and I used to joke that this was our punishment, our purgatory and we weren’t ever going to get out.” Javier shook his head. “I guess he did get out in the end.”

Steve turned his head and this time Javier let him see his face, wondered if it was written all over him just how little he had left to give. Apparently not, because Steve chuckled, the sound empty and still angry as he turned bodily toward him.

This time, when he reached out to touch, Javi didn’t stop him, just dropped the cigarette into the dirt as those calloused fingers slid into his hair and gripped him tight, leaning forward until he could stare into his eyes with an intensity that took his breath away, that made him shut up and listen, “you aren’t done Javi, I know you too well for that. You are going to wake up tomorrow and you are going to be fucking pissed. We’re going to catch Escobar and then we’re gonna visit Carrillo’s grave and we’re finally going to bring him some peace. Understood?”

He doubted it, he really, really doubted it but when Steve looked at him like that, all fiery determination, he couldn’t do anything but nod.

“Good,” he muttered. “And for fuck’s sake, quit calling me Murphy.”

That forced a wet laugh out of him, the sound strangled and pained even to his own ears, and Steve’s lips twitched into a smile, something like relief slipping into his eyes. He was gathered unceremoniously into a hug then, those strong arms crushing him against Steve’s chest, and he slowly let himself sink into the first thing in a long time that didn’t feel like drowning.


End file.
